The Joker and the Clown
by Komaki Nakao
Summary: There's an old myth that says witches born on Friday the 13th will suffer a lifetime of bad luck, as punishment for crimes they committed in a past life. Well, if that's true, I must have done something really bad, because I've been cursed double.
1. Prologue

I can still remember the first time I met them. I was very young – no more than six years old – but I can recall almost every detail. When I close my eyes, I can replay the entire day as if it was a film; sometimes I even notice things that I've never noticed before. Maybe I'm just imagining them, but the truth is all relative anyway.

I lived with my mother, in a tiny, rickety old trailer-house. It was the house's nature – my mother always said – that enabled us to live the lifestyle we did. There was magic in that rusty piece of junk that caused it to randomly migrate; it was rare that we lived in the same location for more than a month. Some mornings I would wake up to the smell of a busy Arabian marketplace, or a bustling urban city. One morning, I woke up and we were in Paris, right next to the Eifel Tower (nearby muggles couldn't see us, of course). However, we usually found ourselves out in the countryside; my mother much preferred wide, open spaces.

That was the case on this particular day; I woke up to the bright, country sun shining on my face and the smell of fresh air teasing my nose. I watched the curtains blow around in the breeze for several moments before I finally crawled out of my tiny loft and down into the main living space. The windows were all open, and there was a bowl of fruit sitting out for me. I munched on a mango while I changed out of the oversized t-shirt and into the white cotton dress my mother had set out for me, shoved a few more pieces of fruit into my hand knitted pouch, and I was out the door.

"Don't wander too far, my love," my mother said as I darted past her. I could hear her singing as I kept running, further and further away. Each note she struck on her lute resonated in the still, summer air,

"_And here I dreamt I was a soldier,  
And I marched the streets of Birkenau.  
And I recall in spring,  
The perfume that the air would bring,  
To the indolent town._

Where the barkers call the moon down,  
The carnival was ringing loudly now.  
And just to lay with you,  
There's nothing that I wouldn't do,  
Save lay my rifle down…"

Back then, I was quick and nimble, and I ran through the overgrown fields until I couldn't see my house anymore. I never worried about it; the house would always guide me back before it vanished. But my mother always worried; because I was a thirteen-baby and she was superstitious.

I'm still not sure if her fears had any base in reality; if meeting Fred and George on that day was really my punishment for some cruel action in a past life, or simply because of chance. I suppose it doesn't matter that much in the long run. All that really matters was that it happened, and that meeting them on that fateful day changed the course of my life forever.

After running for quite some time, I reached a clearing, where the tops of the grass only touched my ankles. I stopped there, catching my breath for a few moments before I sat down to enjoy the rest of my fruit.

"What's that you're eating?" a stranger's curious voice asked me. I jerked my head up, almost dropping my beautiful apple on the ground. The boy standing in front of me appeared to be my age, and had a full head of flaming red hair. His clothes were worn and old, and his face was splashed delicately with freckles. His brown eyes were wide with wonder.

"I-i-it's an apple," I stammered, scrambling to my feet. "Would you like a bite?"

"Sure!" he said, grinning broadly as he stepped towards me. I held out the apple, and as the boy reached for it, another hand knocked it away. A second boy, a mirror image of the first, had joined us.

I jumped back with fright, my jaw dropping, "There are two of you!"

"What do you think you're doing?" the second one asked. "It could be poison!"

"But she already took a bite of it," his double pointed out, pointing at the apple timidly. "If it was poison, she'd be dead."

"Oh," the newer arrival said, as if he hadn't thought about that already. "Of course. I knew that…"

"Um… I have more fruit," I said humbly, pulling a green apple and a yellow apple out of my pouch. "Would you like some?"

"Sweet!" one twin said, snatching the yellow apple out of my hand. "Thanks a bunch!"

"Here," I said, offering the other twin – the one who had appeared first – the green one. "You can have this apple, if you want."

"No, that's alright," he said, reaching down to pick up the red apple. "I'll finish this one."

I wrinkled my nose, "But it's been on the ground…"

He looked at the fruit quizzically for a few moments, wiped it off on his shirt, and then bit into it. He chewed a few times, then swallowed and said, "Tastes fine to me."

I giggled, biting into my own fruit. The green skin was tough, but once I bit into it, the flesh tasted tart and delicious.

"So, do you have a name?" the yellow-apple twin asked.

"Of course I have a name," I said, frowning. At that point in my life, I'd had little social interaction, especially with children my own age. For some reason, I thought that he was teasing me; I felt like I was going to cry.

"Well, what is it?" the red-apple twin asked delicately, as if he could sense how upset I was.

"It's… Lola," I said slowly. I wasn't used to hearing the sound of my own name. The only person I spoke to on a regular basis was my mother, and she usually referred to me _my love_ or _sweetheart_.

"Lola," the twins repeated together, as if they were committing the name to a memory bank that they both shared.

"I'm Fred," the yellow-apple twin said. He bit into his fruit; juice trickled down his chin and onto the front of his shirt, but he didn't seem to notice. "Fred Weasley."

"And I'm George," said the red-apple twin.

"We're twins," Fred said, showing off his mouthful of half-chewed food.

"I thought so," I said, chuckling. "You look exactly alike."

I'm almost positive that my ability to correctly identify the Weasley twins is based on the fact that, when we introduced ourselves, they were honest with me about which twin was which. There were no funny games, no deceit; Fred was Fred and George was George.

"That was tasty," George said, throwing his core off into the distance with full force. "Thank you very much for sharing with us."

"You're welcome," I said, smiling as I finished off the last of my own apple. Instead of throwing it, I sat it down on the ground next to me, so it was standing up on its end.

"But I'm still hungry," Fred said, tossing his core behind his back. "Aren't you still hungry, Lola?"

"Well, a little…" I said, touching my tummy.

"You know what sounds really good?" Fred said, looking at George with a mysterious smirk on his face. "Eggs."

I should have known something was up when George smirked back. But I was young and naive, and at the time I hardly noticed.

"Yes, you're right, Fred," he said. "Eggs would be wonderful."

"But where would we get eggs?" I asked, tilting my head to the side in confusion.

"We know a place," said Fred.

"It isn't far from here," said George.

The twins both stood up, dusted off their shorts, and held their hands out too me.

"Come on, Lola," they said together. "Let's go."

"Okay!" I squealed, grinning wildly as I grabbed onto their hands. They pulled me up and – without once letting go – led me through the field. My heart pumped wildly; I was finally going on an adventure with other children my own age! It was like a dream come true!

I was still feeling completely exhilarated when we arrived at the Burrow. At the time, I didn't know that the tall, unsteady-looking building was their home. Our sighs were set on a tiny, white shack, located several yards from the house itself. A flock of chickens was scattered about, squawking and pecking at the barren ground.

"That's the chicken coop," George whispered into my ear.

"That's where the eggs are," Fred whispered into the other. "All you need to do is go in there and get us some eggs. When you're done, hurry back here as fast as you can."

"It'll be easy," said George.

Fred nodded, "Easy as pie."

I gulped, "Why can't one of you go in there?"

"The chickens don't like us," said Fred with a scowl.

"But they'll like you," George added quickly. "You're pretty."

I blushed; no one – except for perhaps my mother – had ever told me I was pretty before. "But… Oh… I don't know…"

"Oh, come on," Fred said, rolling his eyes. "We're your friends; don't you trust us?"

"F-friends?" I repeated, my heart leaping into my throat at the very thought. "For real?"

"Of course," George said, completely sincere - despite the malicious intentions I would soon find out about.

"And friends help friends get eggs out of the chicken coop," Fred concluded.

"Yes," I said, easily buying into their idea of what friendship was. I punched the air in front of me, suddenly feeling very excited, "Alright, I'll do it! Then we can eat eggs together!"

It never occurred to me just _how_ the three of us were going to eat raw eggs, or that what I was about to do was technically stealing. It never occurred to me that the sound of the twins cackling as I stepped out of the overgrown grass and towards the chicken coop was foreshadowing of the most dreadful sort.

I only became discouraged when I stepped inside the tiny shack; when I saw all those tiny chicken-eyes watching me. The air inside the coop was much cooler, and the only light was the sunbeams that managed to seep through the cracks in the walls of the poorly-constructed shack. The floor was covered with chicken droppings. What looked like a shelves lined each wall, and each shelf was lined with chicken-nests, several of which had chickens perched in them.

I stood on my tip-toes and peeked into one of the nests. About half a dozen eggs were nestled close together, like friends curling up for a nap. That thought reminded me of my new-found friends outside, and I grabbed onto the end of my dress and held it out, placing the eggs in the makeshift-basket I had created.

As I reached for the last egg, the chicken in the neighboring nest pecked at my hand. I let out a tiny cry, dropping the egg on the floor. It broke with a loud _splat_ that seemed to echo throughout the coop.

At that point, all hell broke loose. I was suddenly mauled by a huge mass of feathers, beaks, and talons. I could feel them scratching my skin, ripping my dress, and pulling my hair. I screamed and cried, trying to keep hold of as many eggs as I could as I pushed towards the exit. The second I stepped out into the light, I lost my footing, sliding into a puddle of mud. The eggs were flung into the air when I lost my footing, and they landed on the ground around me. One landed on my head; egg yolk dripped down onto my face.

The pecking party didn't stop once I'd made it outside. Members of the flock that had been hanging around outside the coop joined in now, pecking and flapping and clucking like little winged demons. I curled up into the fetal position and cried hysterically.

"Shoo! Stop that!" I heard someone say from outside the fray. I moved my arm away from my face for a few moments to see what was happening. I saw a short, plump, redheaded woman standing over me, swatting the chickens away. It didn't take them long to get the hint, and within a few moments the wicked birds went back to their usual business.

"T-t-thank you," I whimpered.

"Who are you?" the woman asked, putting her hands on her hips. "And what on earth were you doing in my chicken coop?"

"I w-w-was getting some eg-g-gs," I stammered, slowly sitting up. I tried to wipe the tears out of my eyes, but instead ended up smearing mud all over the side of my face.

"Oh, so you're a _thief_," she said, grabbing my arm and jerking me up onto my feet. "I see how it is."

"No!" I sobbed. "I'm not-"

"Trying to steal my eggs," she ranted on. "The eggs I feed my family with. Did you ever consider that my children would starve if-"

"Wait!" the twins said, rushing out of their hiding place. "Stop, Mum!"

"Please don't hurt her!" George begged.

"It isn't Lola's fault!" said Fred. "We're the ones that told her to do it!"

The woman looked at her children, completely flabbergasted. Her grasp on my arm loosened, and I slipped my slender arm out of her hand. Eventually, she sighed, and it was as if all of her fury vanished, "I should have suspected as much. What were the two of you thinking? You know the chickens don't like children."

"We wanted to see if she was an angel," George mumbled, looking down at the ground with embarrassment.

"You wanted to see if she was a-" the woman stopped, rolling her eyes. "I swear, the things you boys come up with."

"We're really sorry," George said. I wasn't sure if he was speaking to me or to his mother.

She looked at me, "Come on... Um… I'm sorry dear, what was your name?"

"Lola," I said quietly.

"Lola," she said, smiling at me. It was hard to imagine her the way she was only moments before; yelling and screaming and threatening me. "Come on inside, and we'll get you cleaned up." She glanced over at her sons, furrowing her eyebrows, "I'll deal with the two of you later."

"I _told_ you she wasn't an angel," I heard Fred hiss at George as I was led into the house.


	2. The World Cup

_Ten Years Later…_

I awoke to the sound of dozens of voices, yelling excitedly; there were so many of them mingling together that I couldn't make out any particular conversation. I sat up quickly, bonking my head on the low ceiling of my loft.

"I'm getting way too big for this," I grumbled, crawling down into the living space. Our trailer seemed to get smaller and smaller all the time; I was always thankful when it was time to ship off to Hogwarts, where I had a real bed, living room, and bathroom. I saw that the front window was opening, revealing a huge crowd of people scurrying about outside.

_I wonder where we are,_ I thought, curiously opening the front door and stepping outside into the blinding sun. I winced until my eyes adjusted, examining my new surroundings. It seemed our trailer had found a resting place in some sort of campsite; we were surrounded by tents of all shapes and sizes. Perhaps it was a family reunion of some kind?

I blinked, "Where in the world…"

"Good morning, my love," my mother said. She had set up a little table outside of our house, and draped it with bright, colorful cloths that were almost as flamboyant as her outfit. She'd put up a sign that read, _Fortune telling: six sickles._

"Where are we?" I asked her.

"I don't know, sweetheart," she said dreamily. "But I've been making good money so far."

I sighed; I should have known better than to ask her. My mother could care less about our location, as long as she was happy there. Exact geographical location never seemed to be a concern of hers.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt someone tap me on the shoulder, and a clear, confident voice asked, "Excuse me, but could I interest you in some Ton-Tongue Toffee? Or perhaps some Canary Creams?"

"No, thank you," I said, slowly turning around, hoping that I could at least ask the salesman where I was.

I jumped again when I saw who I was speaking to, but this was a happy, elated jump. I found myself face-to-face with Fred Weasley; the smirk on his face told me that he was satisfied with my reaction. His twin brother George stood next to him, holding up a large briefcase full of products, which appeared to be of a questionable nature, and quite heavy. Both boys were tall, with a freckled face and a head of flaming red hair that looked like it hadn't seen a pair of scissors all summer.

"Fred!" I squealed, throwing my arms around him. He laughed, nearly falling over as he returned the embrace. "I've missed you so much!"

"Aww, shucks Lola," he said, rubbing my back. "I missed you, too."

"Oh, it's nice to see you, too," George said, closing the case and setting it on the ground. "Me? Why, thank you so much for asking! I'm doing swell-"

I rolled my eyes as I let go of Fred, "Come here, you," I snarled, grabbing George by the front of his shirt and pulling him into a hug. The three of us laughed as George lifted me into the air for a few moments, spinning me around a couple of times.

"Bloody hell, wherever you've been, you've sure gotten fat," he said, placing me back on the ground gently.

"_And_ you've acquired an even more unique sense of fashion," Fred added, pointing to my PJs, which consisted of boxer shorts and ratty old t-shirt. "Very grunge, I like it."

I snickered, "Yeah, I've been going for that just-rolled-out-of-bed look. It's very popular in France right now."

"Is that where you've been all summer?" George asked.

"We were there for a while," I sighed. "And we spent some time in Germany and Mexico, too."

"You've been getting around," Fred teased, pinching my cheek. "Did you get us anything?"

"Maybe," I said, my voice muffled by his hand. "Where are we right now, anyway?"

"You're joking, right?" they said together, raising their eyebrows.

"Let's pretend for a second that I'm not," I said. "If that were the case, what would your answer be?"

They both laughed, but George was the one who answered my question, "We're at the Quidditch World Cup, of course."

I nodded, not particularly excited about it, "Ah, I see. That would explain all the tents, I suppose…"

"We've unloaded almost half of our stock," George said, patting the large case with pride. "We're also going to rake in a nice profit with a few bets we've made."

"You're gambling?" I questioned, not that I was particularly surprised…

"Of course," Fred said, as if this question trumped my last, as far as stupidity goes. "What good are sports if you can't bet on them?"

I sighed, unable to come up with a good response. I was never a big sports fan; I only went to the school Quidditch games because Fred, George, and some of our other friends were on the team.

"You'll help us go over our figures when the game is over, of course," Fred said. It wasn't a request, or a command; it was a statement of fact.

"Of course," I said. Of the three of us, I was the best with numbers. The twins always joked that when they finally opened their joke shop, I would be in the back room crunching numbers. They'd probably talk me into it, somehow…

"What are you doing, Ms. Harper?" George asked, leaning around to speak to my mother.

"I'm telling fortunes," she said, without that dreamy, airy tone her voice usually had. She was convinced the Weasley twins were a physical manifestation of my thirteen-curse, because they always seemed to get me into trouble. I'm not sure if she _disliked_ them, but she was always extremely cautious when they were around.

"Cool," Fred said, marching up to the table. "Mind telling me my fortune?"

"For seven sickles," she said, pointing to the sign.

Fred reached into his pocket, biting down on his lip with concentration. Finally, he pulled out his hand, unfolding his fist in front of his face. He counted his money thoughtfully, "How about… four sickles, some every-flavor beans, and some pocket lent?"

"I'll cover the rest," George offered, fishing some coins out of his own pocket.

"I'm going to go inside and change," I said, smiling like a maniac. It was always hard not to smile when I was with Fred and George. Unless I was the victim of their latest prank, but even then, it was difficult to stay mad at them for too long.

When I re-emerged from the trailer, I was wearing a pair of tight-fitted jeans and a short, poncho-style dress I'd gotten at a little shop in Mexico. I'd tugged my messy, pepper-colored hair into a sloppy bun, and stuck my wand behind my ear. As always, my feet were bare.

When I glanced over, I found that my mother was already done reading Fred's fortune, and had moved on to George. She held his lanky, pale hand in hers, and her eyes were closed in concentration.

Fred stepped over to me and whispered, "No offence, but I think you're mum's a little cuckoo, Lola."

I chuckled, "Really? I hadn't noticed."

"No, I mean it," he said. "Some of the things she says…"

I looked up at him – the twins were both a good head taller than me – finding his expression uncharacteristically grave and his face even paler than normal.

I gulped, "What did she tell you?"

"Oh, it isn't important," said Fred, trying to laugh it off.

My mother's eyes snapped opened, so quickly that all three of us jumped. She leaned forward, looking George square in the eye as she said, very seriously, "You should wash behind your ears."

"My ears?" George gulped. His cheeks were starting to turn red. The hand my mother wasn't holding onto slowly made its way up to the side of his face, caressing his lobe.

"Yes," my mother said. "Your ears, my pet. Someday, you may not be able to!"

"Um… thanks, Ms. Harper," George said, pulling his hand away. "That was very… insightful. I'll keep your advice in mind."

"Alright, let's go," Fred said, clapping his hands together. Whatever my mother said to him must have been very disturbing; normally he was always in favor of sticking around and messing with her head a bit. "We need to get back to the tent before the game starts. Lola, would you be a doll and grab the briefcase?"

"Do I have a choice?" I groaned, though I knew what the answer would be before I even dared to utter the question.

"Nope," the twins said together.

"If you want to sit in our family's reserved seating, you'll have to carry your weight," George said, flicking my nose playfully.

"You're just glad you don't have to lug this bloody thing around anymore," I said, grabbing onto the handle. When I lifted it, I found that it wasn't quite as heavy as I had imagined, but it was still quite the load.

He laughed, "You can say that again! My back is killing me."

"I'll see you later, mum," I said, waving at my mother, who was stuffing her long, thin pipe with flavored tobacco.

"Don't wander too far, my love," she said. She always said that when I left. Even when I was boarding the train for Hogwarts, she would tell me not to wander off too far. Sometimes I wondered if she even noticed I was gone while I was at school, or when I was spending time with the Weasley's during the summer (which, much to my displeasure, I had missed out on that year).

"Wow, you're really good at that, Lola," Fred said, draping his arm across my shoulder.

"Maybe we should have you carry all of our stuff from now on," George agreed, mimicking his brother's gesture.

"Not happening," I grunted. "It's harder to carry this thing if you're leaning on me, you know."

"Oh, sorry," they said, removing their arms together.

It took a lot of weaving through the large crowd, but eventually we reached the Weasley family tent. I knew which one it was right away; Arthur and Bill Weasley were both sitting outside, chatting together in the hot summer sun.

"Hey, Daddy!" Fred called childishly as he and George ran ahead, while I continued to struggle.

"Look at what we found!" George said, pointing at me. He hopped up and down excitedly. "Can we keep her, please?"

"We promise to feed her and wash her and love her forever," Fred pouted.

Mr. Weasley looked up, smiling broadly when he saw me, "I donno…"

"Please, Mr. Weasley?" I begged, mustering up one of the best fake whimpers I'd ever heard. "I'm house trained and everything."

"Well, I suppose it couldn't hurt," he decided. "It's good to see you again, Lola."

I grinned, "It's good to see you again as well, sir."

"I see Fred and George already have you doing their dirty work," Bill said, nodding towards the case I was still lugging around.

"Yeah," I shrugged, finally dropping the dreadful thing. I had a bit of a childhood crush on Bill Weasley; seeing him now - with his long red hair and pierced ear – made the little girl inside me squeal with delight.

"Pft," Fred scoffed, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. "You know you like it."

"What have you been up to, Lola?" Bill asked, pushing a few stray strands of hair out of his face. "Have you been having a good summer?"

I nodded, "Mum and I have been bumming around the continent, mostly. We spent a lot of time in France."

"Ah, qui sonne comme un moment très agreeable," said Bill, his accent just as good as any I had heard in France. "Avez-vous visité tous les musées?"

"Um… sure," I said, laughing nervously. "If you say so."

He laughed, "You're a hoot and a half, Lola."

"Yeah," George said flatly. "She's a riot."

Fred nodded, "A real good time at parties, too."

"You guys are just jealous because everyone likes me more than you," I said, waving them off.

"… Alright, we'll go with that interpretation," said Fred.

Mr. Weasley chuckled, holding open the door – which was little more than a flap of cloth – open for us. "Come on in; everyone's getting painted up for the game."

"Thank you, kind sir," I said, bowing before I stepped into the tent.


	3. Tomatoes and Malfoys

I became instantly jealous the moment we entered the tent. On the outside, it didn't look like much, but on the inside, it was even bigger – and much nicer - than my house. The rest of the Weasleys – including, much to my surprise, Charlie – dashed about as they prepared for the match. Fellow family friends Hermione Granger and Harry Potter were practically hidden by the sea of redheads.

"We know it's not quite as extravagant as what you're used to," George teased, leaning against one of the wooden posts as he looked out across the tent, the way a king admires his kingdom.

"But it'll do, won't it?" Fred asked.

"Yeah," I snorted, roughly dropping their briefcase on the ground. "It's fantastic."

Bill chuckled, ruffling my already messy hair as he and Mr. Weasley made their way inside, "Hey guys, look whose here!"

Every head in the tent jerked up, and a dozen eyes suddenly landed on me. All of the facial expressions in the room changed, displaying varying levels of excitement.

"Lola!" several familiar voices exclaimed together.

"Fred!" George said, smiling at his twin. "So good to see you!

"George!" Fred said excitedly, embracing his Fred. "It's good to see _you_, as well!"

"You two knock it off," Percy scolded. I decided he must be filling in for Mrs. Weasley, who I noticed was not present. It made me a little sad; Molly Weasley had been like a second, slightly more stable mother figure to me.

"Yeah, knock it off," I said, shoving the nearest twin playfully. "I can't help it that your whole family likes me more than you."

"It's good to see you, Lola," Ginny said, smiling at me. She was sitting in a chair at the large, round table while Ron painted shamrocks on her cheeks with finger paints.

"Stop moving," Ron hissed at her. "You're smudging it."

"Sorry," Ginny giggled, the smile not leaving her face for a second as she leaned back again and closed her eyes.

"It's good to see you too, Gin," I said.

"Well, quit standing in the doorway and come on in," Charlie said, his voice filling the room. "Get over here and give me a hug; I feel like I haven't seen you in years!"

"You haven't seen me in years, Chuck," I said, gliding over to the second oldest Weasley son.

Charlie was short – his head didn't even clear Bill's shoulder – and his collection of freckles was larger than that of any of his siblings. He'd built up a lot of muscles, working with dragons in Romania, and I thought he might snap me in half when he wrapped his thick arms around me for a hug.

He laughed, squeezing me tightly for a few seconds before he let me go. I stumbled out of the embrace but managed to catch myself before I fell over completely. "You're really growing up, Lo."

I scratched the back of my neck, "Um… Thanks, I guess…"

"Yup," George said, stepping up to my left side.

"She's turning into a fine young lady," Fred said, stepping up to my right.

"You guys are embarrassing her," Hermione said sternly. "Honestly, why do you too always have to pick on poor Lola?"

"Because she asks for it," they said, pinching my cheeks.

"It's okay," I grumbled, my voice almost uncomprehendible with their hands stretching out my face. "I'm used to it by now."

"But still," she said. "You should stand up for yourself…"

"You shouldn't take it too seriously, Hermione," Ron said, putting the finishing touches on Ginny's face paint. "That's just their thing; the three of them act like that all the time."

"You should get your face painted, too," Ginny said as she got out of the chair. She ran over to the bathroom, to examine her own face in the mirror.

I grinned, "Sure, why not."

"Just don't let Ron do it," she called. Her reflection looked quite disappointed as she touched the tips of her fingers to her cheeks. "This looks awful."

"There's just no pleasing some girls," Ron muttered, crossing his arms.

"I'll paint your face, Lola," George offered. "My hands are much more graceful than Ron's."

I snickered, "Oh, is that so?"

He nodded, "Yes, it is."

"I wouldn't trust him, if I were you," Harry whispered to me.

"Well, it's just paint," I said, hesitantly sitting down in the chair. "If he does something weird with it, I can just wash it off, right?"

"Exactly," George said. "There's no need to be paranoid. Now Lola, just close your eyes, and I'll fix you up real nice."

"You sound like such a creeper," Fred said. I watched him sit down at the table before my eyes closed.

"All of the world's greatest artists were creepers," George said proudly. I felt his fingers smear the cold, wet paint across my cheeks.

"And you're ready to lump yourself in with the world's greatest artists?" Percy asked. "Michael Angelo, Da Vinci, Monet, Pablo Picasso – you're saying you belong in their company?"

George snorted, "I don't know what you're playing at, Perce. My talent extends far beyond that of a bunch of old dead guys."

I could picture Percy rolling his eyes in my mind, "Whatever you say."

Hermione cleared her throat, "Um, George, I don't think you're using the right colors."

"Of course I am," George answered, and I felt another blob of paint being speared around my face. "Green and gold – Oh! Was I wrong in assuming that you'll be rooting for the Irish, Lola?"

"I really don't care," I shrugged.

"See, there's no problem," said Fred. "No one needs to complain about Lola's face. She looks ravishing, as always."

I smiled, "Aww, thanks, Fred."

"Stop moving," George scolded. "I'm almost finished."

"Right," I said, relaxing my face again. "Sorry."

"You two are awful," Ginny said; though she was laughing while she said it.

"There, all done," George said finally. "Am I awesome or what?"

"I think this is your best masterpiece yet," Ron said, struggling to hold back a few snickers.

"Yes; very deep," Bill said, smirking as he pointed to my face. "This part here is _clearly_ symbolic of the strained relations between wizards and goblins throughout history."

"For Bill, _everything_ relates back to goblins somehow," Fred whispered to Charlie, who erupted into a fit of laughter.

"I think I'd like to see this masterpiece for myself," I said, rising from my chair.

"There's no time for that, Lola!" George said, latching onto one of my arms.

"He's right!" Fred said as he snatched the other. "We must be off; the match will be starting soon!"

"Um… alright…" I swallowed, knowing better than to put up a fight as the twins pulled me from the tent. We waited for the rest of the family outside, and Mr. Weasley closed up the tent before he led us through the crowd. Most of them were starting to move in the same general direction; everyone was chatting and singing and chanting their team's chant. Even as someone who wasn't a big sports fan, I couldn't help but enjoy the upbeat atmosphere –

Until the feeling of something splattering against the side of my arm, and my face was suddenly splashed with bits of tomato as someone in the crowd screamed at me, "Go back to Helsinki!"

"Yeah!" someone else agreed. "Get the hell out!"

"Merlin's pants, what's wrong with you?" I hollered back at the crowd. When I looked, I found that dozens of angry eyes were staring at me with contempt.

Fred, George, and most of their siblings were laughing hysterically. Hermione was shaking her head in disgust, and Mr. Weasley looked like he wasn't quite sure how to react. Harry, like myself, seemed quite confused.

"What's wrong with _you_?" an Irish fan replied. "Wearing Finland's colors 'round these parts! You looking for a good beating?"

"Now, now," one of his friends – a short bloke with a green and gold painted face – coaxed. "We already wiped the floor with the Fins, remember?"

"What are you…" I paused, finally realizing what had happened. Frowning, I reached up and touched my face, peeling off some of the paint. Sure enough, when I looked at my fingers, they were covered with blue and white paint.

Someone threw another tomato, hitting me square in the chest. It hit with enough force that I fell over backwards, landing roughly on my ass.

"That was magical!" Fred said, clapping his hands.

George joined him, "I had no idea they'd be so hostile!"

"I hate both of you," I grumbled, wiping off the bits of smelly, rotting fruit that had splattered onto my face.

"Alright, move along," Mr. Weasley said, waving the angry mob away. "There's nothing to see here; just kids playing a joke."

Charlie was still snickering, "Yes, move along…"

"Honestly, you think you'd learn your lesson," Hermione scolded as she offered her hand, to help me up.

"You'd think, huh?" I said, gratefully accepting her assistance.

"Granger, you don't understand," Fred said. "Lola can't help but fall for our plans; it's part of her curse."

"That is a load of rubbish," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Everyone knows that the Friday the Thirteenth curse is just a superstition, even in the muggle world."

"I'm with her on this one," I said, pointing at Hermione with my thumb. "It's just some made up story."

"Then how come you always walk so willingly into our trap?" George asked.

"I… I'm incredibly stupid," I answered simply.

"Oh Lola, you're not stupid," Mr. Weasley said. "You're just… er…"

"Here," Bill said, chuckling as he handed me a white hanger chief. "Use this to wipe the paint off."

I blushed slightly as I took the cloth from his hands. Once again, my inner child squealed with delight when my fingers brushed across Bill Weasley's hand. The delicate rag was soon covered with blue paint and tomato juice.

"Sorry about your… um… shirt," George said, examining my poncho, not really sure what to call it. "I just thought they'd jeer a bit; I had no idea they'd be throwing tomatoes."

"Who carries around rotten tomatoes, anyway?" Ron asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Sports fans," Harry replied logically.

I laughed a little, "They're a rowdy lot, aren't they?"

"At any rate," Charlie said, his eyes glittering with impatience. "I think we should get going. Otherwise, someone might be tempted to steal our seats."

"There's nothing to worry about," Mr. Weasley assured him as we picked up our journey. "We're in the Top Box, after all."

"There will be enough room for Lola too, won't there?" Ginny asked. "She doesn't exactly have a ticket..."

"Again, nothing to worry about," he said, shooting a wink in my direction. "I think I should be able to wing it."

_Well, the twins had to get it from somewhere,_ I thought, holding out the soiled hanky to Bill. "Thanks."

"Um… you can keep it," he said, smiling awkwardly.

_Of course he wouldn't want it back,_ I thought, laughing nervously as I shoved the dirty thing into my pocket. _Why on earth would he want it back? I really am stupid…_

"Don't fret," Fred whispered to me. For a brief second, I was afraid he was going to mock me, but then he continued, "I'm sure Mum knows a spell that'll clean your ugly shirt right up."

"Oh, right," I said, looking down at my stain. "Yes, I'm sure she does…"

"And your face is still really blue," he teased, pinching my cheek.

"Prime seats!" the witch who was checking tickets said, sounding just a tad envious. "It's straight up there, Author; just keep going up until you can't go up anymore."

"Thank you," he said, nodding at her before he beckoned us to follow.

_She didn't even count to make sure the numbers matched up,_ I thought, managing to sneak by rather easily between all the tall Wealeys. It seemed like forever before we reached the top box, but the accommodations appeared to be worth the climb; the chairs looked much more comfortable than the chairs we'd passed on the way up.

"We're one short, of course," Mr. Weasley whispered into my ear. "So someone is going to have to squeeze."

"These two can do it," I said, nodding at the twins.

"Say what now?" they said together, raising their eyebrows as if they were all controlled by the same nerve.

"You two can share a seat," I told them, happily claiming mine. "You're used to it."

"Why don't you and Ginny share one?" George suggested.

"Yes," said Fred. "You'd both fit into one of these chairs much easier than George and I could."

"No way," Ginny scoffed, taking her own seat, a few chairs to the left of me. "I don't want people throwing tomatoes at me by association."

George sighed with defeat, "Come on Fred; let's let her have this one."

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt," Fred said as the twins sat down together, awkwardly squirming in the tight space. "Lola deserves to win one every now and again. Otherwise, she might get depressed."

"Ahhh," I said, smirking as I wiggled around in my seat. "I'm _loving_ all this extra space."

"We let you win," Fred said dryly. "You don't have to rub it in."

Bill, who was sitting on my other side, tapped my shoulder, "It seems we're sharing our box with some very important people."

I smiled, "Oh?"

He nodded, "See those men Dad and Percy are talking to? Well, I guess that odd looking one is the Bulgarian Minister, and then the one with the bowler is Cornelius Fudge."

I inhaled sharply, "We're sharing a box with the Minister of Magic?"

"It would seem so," Bill said nonchalantly.

_Mom would _love_ this,_ I thought. She had never been a fan of authority of any sort, and complained about this wizard's "dirty politics" whenever the topic came up. However, she thought all politics were dirty politics, so I knew that he was probably only half as bad as she claimed.

"Oh, _fantastic,_" George said, glancing up at the group of wizards. "Look whose here."

Fred looked up at the group, frowning instantly, "Wonderful."

"What?" I asked, turning back to see who they were talking about. They didn't have to answer; I spotted the cause of their displeasure almost right away.

Perhaps it was my friendship with Harry that was the source of my utter distaste for Draco Malfoy, but I'm sure I wouldn't have liked him even if the two boys weren't bitter rivals. I knew some of it was jealousy; established wizarding families like the Malfoys could provide a child with everything they wanted growing up, while I often had to go without. But all of those privileges had spoiled little Draco, and when I looked at him I always felt a little proud of my upbringing.

Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy looked enough alike to be relatives – and, if one believes all the gossip about pureblood families, it is very possible that they were. They both had long, pale blond hair, which they had passed on to their son, and looked at the Weasley family with contempt.

"Goodness, Arthur," Mr. Malfoy said, quite shocked. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the top box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much…"

_Asshole,_ I thought, and I had to bite down on my lip to keep it from popping out. A quick glance around told me that all the Weasley children, as well as Harry and Hermione, were having similar thoughts.

"Slimy gits," Ron muttered, once the adults had gone back to their conversation.

"Oh, don't let them get to you," said Bill. "Just enjoy the game."


	4. Coco, Coffee, and Firewhiskey

I have never been a huge sports fan, but even I had to admit that the match was intense. I even found myself cheering along with the rest of the box when the Irish won, despite the fact that the Bulgarian seeker caught the snitch (a stupid move, in my opinion…) Mr. Weasley repeatedly told the twins not to tell their mother they had been gambling, but when I looked at their giant sack of gold – which they so kindly allowed me to carry – I knew she'd somehow work it out.

"Alright," Mr. Weasley said, clapping his hands together. "Let's be off to bed, shall we?"

"Bed?" Charlie snorted. "I've got so much energy; I don't think I could sleep a wink, even if I wanted to!"

"I don't think a quick mug of hot chocolate before bed would hurt," Percy said thoughtfully.

"Mmm, yes," Fred said pretentiously.

George nodded, "Quite so."

"Indeed," I added, twirling my invisible mustache as I sat the bag of gold down on the table.

"Well… alright," Mr. Weasley gave in.

It was very relaxing, drinking hot chocolate on a cool summer evening. I sat off to the side, sipping my drink as I watched the twins tease Ron about his man-crush on Victor Krum. When I asked who that was, the twins refused to speak to me ever again. Ron, however, quickly launched into a rant about how Krum was the greatest Seeker who ever lived, which only earned him more teasing.

"Poor Ron," Bill sighed, flashing me a brief smile as he sat down next to me on the floor.

I chuckled, "Better him than me, I suppose."

"My brothers still give you a hard time, huh?"

"I guess you could say that," I shrugged. "But I'm used to being the butt monkey by now."

He snickered, "The butt-what?"

"The butt monkey," I repeated, embarrassed to admit it. "You know, the one that gets picked on for comic relief."

"Ohhh, gotcha," he said, setting his empty mug aside. "Must be part of that Friday the Thirteenth curse."

I rolled my eyes, "That's just a superstition. Being born on the thirteenth doesn't make someone any more or less lucky than the next guy."

"Whatever you say, butt monkey," Bill teased, ruffling my hair.

_You should just tell him how you feel_, I thought, giggling as I tried to fight him off. _Tell him you think he's funny, and sexy, and that he's the coolest person you know-_

_Except he's about seven years older than you,_ I reminded myself as we started to settle down. _And he's George and Fred's _brother,_ there's no way something like that could work._

"Lola, you alright?" Bill asked, suddenly concerned. "You look a little pale."

"Oh, I'm fine," I said, faking a yawn. "Just a little tired. How's Egypt?"

"Sandy," he replied. "Lots of mummies. Why didn't you tag along when the family came to visit last summer? I think you would have had fun."

"Fred and George did ask if I wanted to come," I said. "But… I donno. I felt like I'd be in the way. I mean, it was a _family_ vacation-"

"You might as well be part of the family," said Bill. "I mean, you used to hang around our house so much, I kinda thought of you as a second sister."

_Sister…_ I gulped. _See? He doesn't think of you as girlfriend material. It's a good thing you kept your mouth shut; that would have been a big, awkward mess._

"You know, you really shouldn't let their teasing get you down," he said. "I'm sure that's just their way of showing affection."

"Okay, I _really_ think it's time we all went to bed," Mr. Weasley announced. When I looked up, I saw that Ginny had fallen asleep at the table.

"Poor kid," Bill said, helping me stand. "It was nice talking to you again."

"Y-yeah," I stuttered, blushing as I forced myself to let go of that wonderful hand. "It was nice…"

"Goodnight," he said, winking at me before he disappeared into the room he, Charlie, and Mr. Weasley were sharing.

In the girl's room, there were only two beds, and since I was the impromptu guest, I offered to sleep on the floor. Ginny and Hermione gave me all the extra blankets and pillows that we had, and I was able to construct a makeshift mattress that was even more comfortable than my bed at home. Hermione and Ginny were both able to fall asleep quite swiftly, but the sounds of the other campers celebrating kept me awake.

Suddenly, a tiny light was shining on my face, and my heart thumped wildly when I saw someone peeking through the bottom of the tent.

"Psst, Lola," I heard Fred whisper. "You awake?"

"What are you doing?" I hissed, crawling on my stomach over to the edge of the tent.

"You didn't think we were actually going to bed, did you?" he asked. Even in the dim light of his wand, I could see the mischief dancing across his face. "Come on!"

I groaned, kicking off my blankets as Fred and George held the tent open for me.

"Lola, where on _earth_ are you going?" Hermione asked, sounding very groggy.

"Don't worry about Lola," George said.

"We'll take good care of her," Fred added. "Besides, you're dreaming all this, so go back to sleep!"

_Hermione's way too smart to fall for that,_ I thought, rolling my eyes as I finished crawling out of the tent. However, there were no more protests as Fred and George pulled me to my feet, leading me through the campground whimsically.

"You two are in a good mood," I yawned.

"Of course we're in a good mood," said Fred.

George nodded, "This is the best day of our lives, Lola! We finally have enough money to start our own business, thanks to all the money we made on that bet!"

"And we want to celebrate with you," they finished together, throwing their arms around my shoulders.

I smiled, "No tricks?"

They shook their heads, "No tricks, we promise!"

I didn't believe that for a second, and I kept my guard up as we trolled the campgrounds. Fred desperately wanted to take part in a large poker game that we stumbled upon, and it took George and I a good ten minutes to talk him out of it. It seemed like everywhere we went, Irish fans were offering us Butterbeer or Firewhiskey.

"And to think," Fred said. "Dad wanted us to miss all of this so we could get some sleep!"

"Somehow, I don't think that was his only concern…" I said, blushing slightly as we walked past a drunken couple partaking in some rather risqué activities, in the middle of their campsite.

Fred snickered, "Now _they _know how to celebrate."

I rolled my eyes, "How would you know what it's like?"

"I'm not a priest, Lola," he said, flicking my nose. I glared up at him with irritation.

"Yo, Fred, George! Lola!" a familiar, cheerful voice called out to us. I smiled, any witty retort I had for Fred vanishing as the three of us turned around to spot Oliver Wood, waving wildly despite being just a few yards away.

"Oley!" I gasped, leading our group over to the freshly-graduated, former captain of the victorious Gryffindor Quidditch team (not that I cared much about Quidditch, but it was nice to be able to tell that horrible Leanne girl to _suck it_ when we won the cup the year before). "I didn't think you'd be here!"

"C'ourse I'm 'ere," he slurred, leaning on me for support. I nearly crumbled under his weight, and for once I was thankful for the two annoying boys attached to my hip as they lifted Oliver off of me. "Wouldn't miss'is for the world!"

George grumbled, draping one of Oliver's arms over his shoulder. Fred did the same.

"Wood, you are _drunk_," they said together.

"P_ffffff_t," he snorted, giving all three of us a nice whiff of the liquor on his breath. "I'm not… I jus'ad _one_ Fire 'iskey, s'all."

"Only one shot, and you got _this_ drunk?" George questioned.

"You're a bloody lightweight, Wood," Fred said. "Though your weight isn't particularly light…"

"No, I finished 'eh bottle," Oliver said, smiling goofily. "M'fine, _honest. _C'mon, come sit with me. I m-_hic_-miss you kids…"

The three of us shrugged, following Oliver's instructions to his campsite. His mother seemed quite upset about his state, insisting that Fred and George had something to do with her son's intoxication. After we assured her that this was not the case, she went inside to make us all some coffee – to help her "knucklehead son sober up" and to thank us for returning him.

_There's no way I'll be able to sleep after this,_ I thought, sipping the hot liquid. _Oh well, you only live once, I suppose…_

"So 'ere I was, justta-bout ta throw tha Quaffle," Oliver was telling us, his arms flailing about so enthusiastically that he nearly knocked his mug of coffee over. "The crowd was goin' wild-"

"Yes, yes," Fred and George chimed in, looking equally bored. "We _know_."

"We were there," George reminded him. "You don't have to tell us about it."

Oliver pouted, "But wat 'ef Lola wants to 'ear 'bouts it?"

Fred snorted, "What would make you think Lola wants to listen to your lame Quidditch stories? She hates sports."

"Fred, don't be rude," I hissed, kicking him under the table. My foot hit the wrong twin, and George winced with pain. "Oh, sorry George…"

"Not a problem," he whimpered, rubbing his leg. "I'm fine."

"Jeez Lo," Fred snickered. "Do you have steel in your toes?"

"Sooooooo," Oliver cooed, shoving his face into my hair, humming quietly.

I felt a blush creeping across my cheeks, "Oley… What are you doing?"

"Well, _they're_ not gonna do'et," he slurred, pointing across the table at the twins, slobbering all over my neck. Why the _hell_ was he licking my neck?

"Hey!" the twins protested. "Stop that!"

"You're 'ery pretty," Oliver whispered into my ear. "I always wa-_hic_-ted ta t'll ya that…"

I gulped, "Um…"

"Alright, that's enough of that," George said, pulling Oliver away from me.

"It was nice seeing you again, Wood," Fred said as he yanked me up out of my seat. Where George just sounded a bit frustrated, Fred's words seemed to be laced with venom. I shivered as he hooked his arm through mine. "But we've got to be going."

"But-" Oliver tried to protest.

"Bye," George said sternly, hooking his arm through my spare one. I stumbled as I tried to keep up with him.

"… What was all _that_ about…" I said, too dismayed to think of much else.

"Lousy git," Fred muttered. "What did he think he was doing, hitting on you in front of us like that?"

George nodded, "Bloody disgrace."

I rolled my eyes, "What do the two of you care, anyway? Besides, all he did was lick my neck."

"He _licked _your _neck_?" they questioned.

I shrugged, "Yeah. It felt really weird…"

_You're very pretty_.

I shook my head, trying to get those words out of it, while the twin's laughter could be heard ringing in both of my ears. They were flattering, sure, but I wasn't going to fall for the first guy who licked my neck and called me pretty. Besides, Oliver was _drunk_; he probably didn't mean any of it.

"Oh, that Oliver Wood," George said. "He's such a charmer."

"Poor little Lola," Fred teased, pinching my cheek. "Her first neck-lick was stolen by that philandering drunk."

"Oh, _now_ it's funny," I said, shaking my head. Spotting an empty bench near one of the bon fires, I lead my identical friends over to it, sitting down with one of them on either side. "But the second he got near me, you two totally freaked out."

"No one's going to lick your neck on our watch," George said, saluting.

Fred nodded, "Just because we're not completely chaste doesn't mean we're going to allow _you_ to run around like a harlot."

"Oh yes," I grumbled. "Because my passion burns with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns, and all the lads in the village are just _dying_ to have their way with me at least once."

"Hey, guys; look what I nicked from Wood when he wasn't looking," Fred said, smirking when George and I looked over at him. He shoved his hand into the pocket of his sweatshirt, pulling out a bronze flask.

George grinned, "Brilliant."

"You're going to have to give that back," I scolded as Fred unscrewed the cap. "Oley is going to notice that it's missing."

"Relax, _Mom_," Fred said, taking a swig before he passed the flask to his brother. "He's had enough for the night, anyway."

"Yeah," George agreed, taking a drink before he offered me the flask. "It's our turn to have some fun."

Hesitating, I took the flask from George. He and Fred had both taken a drink from it, so there couldn't be anything suspicious about its contents. I shrugged, lifting the flask to my lip. The liquor inside was strong and tasted horrid, especially when mixed with the taste of coffee that was still lingering in my mouth. I winced as I swallowed it, already feeling a bit dizzy.

"How is it?" Fred and George asked me eagerly.

"Er… wonderful," I lied, handing the flask back to Fred.

He sighed, looking up at the stars, "George, Lola, this is going to be the best night of our-"

Suddenly, what would have no doubt been a very inspiring, let's-get-drunk-and-party-until-we-pass-out speech was interrupted by a loud, piercing scream.


End file.
